Molyamory
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: When Sherlock and Molly embark upon a relationship after the events of Sherrinford, he informs her that nothing will change, that he is first and foremost married to The Work. Hmm, I wonder how this triad will work out for the detective, his pathologist and his beloved occupation? Read and find out. -one shot-


_Goodness! It's been ages since I posted a fic! As I mentioned on Tumblr I recently started working and homeschooling my youngest son. There, you have my excuses, but I did manage to finish this little_ oneshot _that I started a couple of months ago (mostly because I hurt my back last week and had to call out of work yesterday, my pain - your gain)._

 _I first want to thank MizJoely for her betaing and encouragement. She is a wonderful friend and I treasure her. Also, you will find lots of science! in this one and I'd love to credit the many resources I used when writing but sadly, most of the science! bits were written on my old laptop and I lost those links when I switched. Oops! So here's a general thanks to the scientific community at large._

 _Heed the rating, my friends, there be humor and sex in the following fic. Also, there's a wee bit of bug talk, but nothing too graphic (you know me and my distaste for the nasty little...buggers!)._

 _For darnedchild!_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

pol·y·am·o·ry

/ˌpälēˈamərē/

noun - the philosophy or state of being in love or romantically involved with more than one person at the same time.

* * *

 **~ Domestic bliss, it's a careful balance of what I need and what I want ~**

He had always been upfront with her about what came first in his life. He had never misled Molly, not about this anyway. He couldn't help that he that he felt such strong (and somewhat foreign) emotions and that she had to share him with another. She knew _the order of things_ and had never complained. Not once.

If he spent more time with _The Wife_ than with her, he always made it up to her. Though not the least bit superficial, Molly's forgiveness could be gently coaxed to the fore with a shiny new piece of equipment for the lab (that occupied the basement flat at 221B - Molly's _official_ address, for legal purposes only, of course). Sometimes a nice, hot shared bath was all it took to get back into the black with his lover. She rather enjoyed letting him wash her hair, he had found after missing a dinner date two months into their relationship. In extreme cases, however (evidently, three weeks and a half alone with _The Wife_ was " _beyond the pale, Sherlock! A bloody phone call wouldn't have killed you!_ "), an impromptu trip to Prague for wining and dining finally got him back in her good graces. But most of the time all he'd needed to do was clear the next day, make sure they had no interruptions and…

"Oh.. yes! Don't stop! Don't you fucking stop!" Molly panted. "I want another!"

 _I know you do, love and why would I stop?_ he thought as he pulled his mouth away, giving his tired jaw a rest and let his hand take over for a couple of minutes. He entered her with two digits, slowly finger fucking her, not giving her enough friction for an orgasm, but letting it build.

"Oooo… Do that thing with your thumb!"

 _You mean this?_ Pressing lightly on her rosebud, he teased the outside of her backdoor. He'd never entered that particular orifice, but she did seem to love the _idea_ of it. All he had to do was hint at the concept of anal sex and Molly'd lose her mind.

"Fucking hell!" she said in a shrill gasp. "Okay, now. Please! Please! Now!"

 _Not yet, you greedy wench!_ Lowering his head once more, Sherlock smirked, knowing that she thought the end was nigh. It wasn't.

" **NOW!"** she demanded. He'd been playing with her for several minutes, teasing her clit, then backing off and moving to her urethra - another one of her sensitive spots, if he tickled it just right, he could keep her on edge for as long as he liked.

He chuckled into her folds. Okay, so it was _possible_ that he enjoyed 'making it up to her' just as much as she did. Oh, but eating Molly Hooper's pussy was a singular experience and he always took his time.

"I'm going to murder you if you don't make me come!" she growled, digging her nails into his scalp and pulling his hair just a bit more sharply than was pleasurable.

 _All right, love. Message received_. Molly believed in the straightforward approach when it came to sexual gratification. Subtlety went right out the proverbial window.

Sherlock buried two fingers in her soaking wet snatch while letting his thumb graze her pucker. When sucked her clit into his mouth, she groaned and bucked, her entire pelvis lifting off of the bed. His left arm pressed her back down, holding her in place. Within seconds, a string of expletives left the woman's mouth that would have made a sailor blush. He moved his mouth lower, unwilling to miss a drop of her sweet honey. It had been nearly a week since he'd tasted her; he wasn't going to waste a drop.

After giving her a moment to recover, he rose up over her and spoke for the first time since entering their bedroom. "Am I forgiven, my love?" he asked.

Panting, Molly smiled and said, "You most certainly are." before pulling him down and kissing her essance off his face.

They didn't leave the room for two more _very_ satisfying hours.

o0o0o

Sherlock Holmes was… happy. As a matter of fact, he'd never _been_ so happy. He had The Work _and_ His Molly. His wife and his mistress. All three of them coexisted harmoniously. One big happy polyamorous family. He spent his days - and sometimes nights - with _The Wife_ and the rest of his time in domestic bliss with Molly. It was odd, really, how much he'd come to enjoy just being with her.

He wasn't surprised, however, that he had headed seamlessly back into sexual gratification or that it was so much more fulfilling with Molly. Evidently, sex was better when you were in love. And oh, was Sherlock Holmes in love. The balance that they had stuck was somewhat delicate, but they managed and it completed him in ways the had never imagined.

 _And they said it couldn't be done. Ha! I showed them,_ he thought as he rode in the back of a cab. He was on the way to St. Barts. He had nothing on and he just knew that Molly would appreciate a surprise mid-day visit.

Okay, so no one had actually said it couldn't be done. Even Mycroft was supportive of his relationship with Molly (her baking had secured a place in his brother's heart and his arteries). Sherlock himself had been the only naysayer, truth be told.

It had started upon his trip to her flat post-Sherrinford…

" _Molly..." Sherlock held her tiny hands in his. "It's not that I didn't mean it. I did. I do, of course, I do." Her teary eyes were doing strange things to his chest, but he kept going. Looking away so that he could finish his task without having to see her pain, he said, "But I'm… I'm married to my work, you see."_

 _As the words left his mouth, it dawned on him that he'd never actually given Molly Hooper this speech before. And there had many opportunities: that time she'd asked him out - Christmas and The Dress, dozens of moments in the lab when she had hinted at her feelings, long talks at her flat when he was using it as a bolthole - but he had never explained that he simply couldn't enter into a relationship because he was already in one._ Curious, _he thought._ I wonder…?

 _He had explained his situation to John that first night, their first case, when he had mistaken the doctor's inquiry for 'interest'. He'd told Irene in Karachi when she attempted to 'thank' him for saving her life. She'd just laughed in return and said that she wasn't the marrying kind. And there were others too, miscellaneous people he'd encountered throughout the years._ "I consider myself married to my work…" _was his standard reply to any unwanted sexual or romantic interest._

 _But for some reason, he'd never - ever - given Molly Hooper 'the speech'._ Why would I not have just told her?

 _Looking up, he realised that she was no longer sat on the sofa next to him. He found her in the kitchen, robotically making tea._

 _As she heard his approach she started speaking without turning around. "I do understand, you know," she said, taking two mugs down from the cabinet above the sink. "You're right, I've always known, I suppose." Huffing out a mirthless laugh, she pulled open a drawer and grabbed a spoon. "It's funny, though, isn't it? I mean why would your sister make…"_

 _Gripping her by the shoulders, Sherlock spun her around. "Because she saw something that I failed to see," he said, realisation dawning as he spoke. "Eurus is insane, Molly, but she's also brilliant."_

" _What are you talking about, Sherlock?" she asked, clearly confused._

" _I love you."_

 _Her face softened. "I know. I just said that I under…"_

" _No. I. Love. You."_

 _It took a few seconds for the penny to drop, but then it did. "Love…_ love _, love."_

" _Love," he said, smiling._

 _The rest of the afternoon was spent in her bedroom, expressing said love. As they lay in bed afterwards, Sherlock explained that nothing would change: he had no intention of letting a little thing like falling (although, he now realised that he had 'fallen' long ago) in love alter his life in any way._

And he could safely say that it hadn't. Enhanced it, yes. Increased his appreciation for certain aspects of life, certainly. But he still had his freedom and his blogger and Baker Street and The Work. He _still_ had the excitement of the chase and he also had His Molly.

Finally arriving at the hospital, Sherlock got out and, with a slight spring in his step, made his way to the pathology lab, intent on surprising his mistress.

Only… she wasn't there.

"Excuse me," he said to the gormless intern who was watching the autoclave as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

"Yeah?" the intern answered without taking his eyes off the spinning machine.

"Dr. Molly Hooper? Where would I find her?" he asked, in no mood to go hunting. She was most likely in the morgue, but she could also have been stuck in some boring meeting.

The intern looked at Sherlock with dull eyes. "Dunno. I'm here. Not her."

 _Obviously._ "Who's supervising you, you half-wit?"

"Dr. Harborstone."

That explained the absence of proper supervision in the lab. The "Doctor" spent most of his time chasing every vagina within a ten-kilometer radius. He'd even made the mistake of hitting on Molly _once_. She had tried to keep it from Sherlock, and had succeeded… for almost three days. It took some maneuvering - he couldn't confront the letch directly because no one knew of their involvement; it was far too dangerous - but with his brother's help, he managed to make Harborstone understand that Dr. Hooper was very much off limits.

"Are you attempting to say that she's not on the schedule?" he asked the dolt, who had gone back to staring blankly into the autoclave (what the hell was he watching?).

"Yep. Haven't seen her all week."

That made no sense whatsoever! Sherlock knew Molly's schedule better than the periodic table. _Hmm…_

Leaving the lab, he pulled out his mobile and started sending a text. As he hurried up the stairs two at a time, he typed: **At Barts. You're not. Where are you?**

He was in a cab on his way to Baker St. before he received a response.

 **I told you I was going to be using the University of London's** **entomology labs this week. Have you forgotten about my side project already?**

 _Project… Project... Ahh, shit!_ He had. His mind raced trying to remember anything Molly had mentioned about bugs. By the time the cab had pulled up in front of their building, he still had nothing. To his defense, it had been a rather busy week; a double murder, a minor drug ring and thwarting of a bombing plot all in the span of eight days. _The Wife_ had been a demanding shrew as of late.

After changing into lounge clothes and a dressing gown (mostly because he felt like skulking), Sherlock sat in his chair and pulled out his mobile. **This week's been a killer, Molly.** He knew she'd love the awful pun. **Remind me.** Best to be honest with her; she could smell a lie, from him at least, from a mile away.

It took almost forty bloody minutes for her to reply. **Somehow, I'm not surprised. My breeding programme with Shilpa romosa… Ringing any bells? The start of the project is rather intense. After this week, I'm back to my normal schedule at work.**

Of course! _Now_ he remembered. Her little pet project with carrion beetles. Well, how long could it possibly take to look at a few bugs?

 **~ Insect husbandry, who even knew that was a thing? ~**

"Bloody fucking hell!"

"Calm down, Sherlock. Look! I made tea," John said, holding a mug out to his friend.

"Your tea tastes like iguana piss," the detective spit back as he stood and strode away from the offending beverage.

"Okay, first of all… _ouch_." John set the mug on the table next to Sherlock's chair. "You never complained about my tea when I lived here…"

"It's called being polite, John."

"... and secondly, how do you know what iguana piss tastes like?"

"Donnell McCavers," he answered with no elaboration.

"Yeah, gonna need more than a name."

"I case I solved whilst at uni. McCavers attempted to murder his flatmate by slowly 'poisoning' the man with urine from his pet iguana." He walked as he talked. "It was quite a feat, truth be told. Reptiles don't actually urinate, as such. They excrete nitrogenous waste but they have no channel for excretion. Basically, their 'urine' - which is actually uric acid crystals - and their feces are both simultaneously discharged through a common waste orifice called a cloaca." Finally stopping his pacing, he paused at the window and stared out at Baker Street. "He then had to turn it into a completely liquid compound and, most importantly, disguise the flavour." Glancing over at John, he said, "Hence my reason for tasting it."

"Sorry I asked."

"Well, you did." He was once again focused on the street below.

"Lesson learned."

After several minutes of tense silence, Sherlock grumbled, "A month, John. She's been breeding bugs for a month!"

"Yeah, so what about it?"

Turning and gracing the doctor with his most patronising sneer, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I can't go to the university and see her, John, and she's never here. She's… _there_ with her bloody bugs! After work, she goes straight to the damn lab to play with her beetles!"

"You miss her."

"Of course I miss her! She's supposed to be here when I finish a case. With snickerdoodles and smiles and kisses and warm thighs…"

"NO! Nooooo! That's enough of that!" He stood. "I've told you before, I do _not_ want to hear about that aspect of your relationship!"

Sherlock raked his hands through his hair, then turned and dashed into his bedroom. Quickly changing, he returned to the sitting room.

"What now?" John asked.

"Damn this secrecy. I'm going to that university and paying my mistress a visit!" he answered as he donned his Belstaff.

He completely missed John's muttered, _"Maybe stop calling her your mistress and she'll come home every once in a while,"_ as they left.

o0o0o

"Yes, I'm looking for Dr. Molly Hooper," Sherlock said smoothly to the young woman behind the desk. "She's utilising the Etymology labs, I believe."

After several questions, two phone calls and a bit of flirting, he and John had visitors passes and direction to the labs.

"You think she's gonna be happy about this?" John asked as they walked.

"To see me? Of course she will."

"Would _you_ be happy if she showed up whilst you were busy on a case in, say, Hull?"

Sherlock stopped walking. "Why in the name of God would I take a case in Hull?"

"Why _wouldn't_ you?"

Thinking for a moment, Sherlock asked, "Is it a nine? No! A ten? I won't go to Hull for less than a ten."

"What's your problem with Hull?"

Shaking his head, the detective started walking once again. "Have you ever _been_ to Hull, John. It's awful."

The doctor had to jog to catch up with his friend. "My point is that you'd be upset, put off, downright angry…"

"Molly will be flattered," he replied with a cocky grin.

When they finally found the correct lab, Sherlock turned to John, grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close to the wall. "Remember, I am not Molly's…" He looked upwards for a moment then back to his friend. "Partner. We're here to ask when she's returning to Barts because we need assistance." Releasing him, he said, "Unless she's alone, in that case, bugger off." He nodded, winked and started for the door.

" _What a bloody idiot,"_ John mumbled under his breath.

o0o0o

Sherlock Holmes sauntered (yes, sauntered!) into Etymology Lab #4 at the University of London as if he owned the place. Molly was nowhere to be seen. Three young people - two women and a wet-behind-the-ears boy who couldn't have been more than nineteen - all stood around a large terrarium, oohing and ahhing as if they were watching the start of Life itself.

"I was told I could find Dr. Molly Hooper here?" he said without preamble.

One of the young women glanced up at him before picking up a clipboard and making several notes. The others didn't seem to notice him at all.

"Molly Hooper…?" he repeated. The woman held up a single finger as if to ask him to wait a minute. _What could be so bloody fascinating about bugs?!_ Turning, he gave John an exasperated eye roll. His friend simply shrugged in return.

Finally, the woman put the clipboard down and glanced at him again, or at his visitor's badge rather and returned her focus on the terrarium as she spoke. "She went to get coffee, I think."

"With Professor Timmons," the boy said without looking up.

"Yeah," the last young woman confirmed. "They left a while ago, though."

Just then the door opened and Sherlock heard the distinct sound of His Molly's laughter.

"... what did you do then?" she asked, her voice filled with unmitigated joy.

Sherlock whipped around to find _his mistress_ walking _very_ closely with a handsome older man, her hand on his forearm as she shook with glee.

The sight caused his blood to boil.

"Oh, come now, Molly," the man said. "I won't… _bug_ you with the details."

Timmons' reply caused Molly to erupt in giggles. As she turned to face the room, she saw Sherlock, but where he expected to see guilt - guilt because she was obviously enjoying her time with this _professor_ \- he only saw shock.

"Sherlock!" Stepping forward - clearly intent on making some sort of lame excuse, he was sure of it - she caught herself just before she reached him and asked, "What are you doing here?" Her eyes moved to John then quickly back to him. "Is… is everything all right?"

She was _supposed_ to be playing with beetles but he had come all the way here and hunted her down to find her laughing and flirting with some handsome professor! Inwardly he was seething but pride wouldn't allow that to show. No, he would _not_ let this little scene shake his firm foundation. He was the stoic Sherlock Holmes. He was the Great Detective. He…

"Afternoon, _Doctor_. John and I came in hopes of acquiring your assistance on a difficult case. You've been _quite unavailable_ as of late, you see, and I had hoped to get a chance to utilise your _unique skills_." He glared at the man standing behind her and to her right. "But I can now see what's been monopolising all of your _precious time_." Moving closer, he bent down and whispered, "I _do_ hope he was worth it, Molly."

She gasped, jerking back as if struck. "What?!"

"I never expected this from _you_ of all people," he said with a sneer before stepping away. Then he looked into the eyes of the woman he loved more than anything in the world and watched as her face contorted into a mixture of sadness, anger and disappointment. Her lovely brown eyes watered, but no tears fell. A bright pink flush stained her cheeks and chest, but it was nothing like the blush he caused when he whispered filthy suggestions in her ear.

"You actually think…?" She gasped, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly several times. "My God!" Turning, she faced John and said, "Get him out of here now before I say something that _cannot_ be unsaid." She walked a few paces away and threw her coffee cup into a bin.

"Roger that," John said, grabbing Sherlock by the elbow. "I'll try to sort him out, Molls."

With her back to them both, she said, "He better hope that you can." in a low whisper.

Sherlock didn't know to do or say. He felt… _so many things_ that he simply couldn't process what was happening. Molly was clearly hurt, but why? She'd hurt him! Hadn't she? The people in the room were looking at him in disgust and John… John was obviously disappointed. But what of Molly? She'd been spending all of her time with this… this Timmons and not HIM!

Without any protest, he allowed his best friend to drag him from the lab, down the hall and back into the lift. When he turned to John to speak, the man held up a hand, silencing him with a look.

"Cab, Sherlock. I'll explain in the cab," the doctor said without looking him in the eyes.

Suddenly it occurred to him that it was possible that he had misread that entire situation…

John talked the entire way back to Baker Street; Sherlock barely listened. He did catch some of the more important bits, though. ' _... has the patience of Job.' - '... deserves better than that, and you know it!' - '... gonna have to grovel like you've never grovelled before, you bloody idiot!_ '

o0o0o

Molly didn't return until well after ten that night and by that time, Sherlock was a complete mess.

In the hours between his departure from the university and his arrival at the flat, he'd managed to clearly see the error of his ways. He had been, as John had accused him, a bloody idiot. Molly wasn't carrying on with that professor, she wasn't even flirting with him, she was just laughing at his awful joke. A completely _Molly_ thing to do.

The real problem was that Sherlock had been jealous of losing her attention when she'd found something to focus on that wasn't him. Those damn bug! He had taken his frustration out on her, of course, since he had no idea how to navigate such uncharted waters.

He had devised several plans before she showed up, some more elaborate than others. He considered booking her favourite suite at the hotel in Prague, but he scratched that one realising that she was still working on her project and that it would make it seem like he didn't care about her interests. Which, frankly he didn't. Bugs didn't tickle Sherlock's fancy, but they were important to her and he understood why.

That led him to another train of thought. _Ask about the damn project!_ He distantly remembered John mentioning something about trying to engage Molly about her bugs in the last few weeks. He couldn't recall the specific conversation but it was an altogether John-like suggestion. Molly always asked about his cases; she would sit and listen to him - for hours at times - as he explained deductions and theories. He owed it to her to find out how her project was going.

Mostly, he spent the time waiting on his lover's return going over his apology. He had the entire speech worked out in his mind. He would - _cringe_ \- grovel, if need be. John was right, though he didn't plan on telling his friend anything of the sort. He might need to beg. Though he wouldn't enjoy it, he'd do it… for Molly. She deserved it after what he'd accused her of.

He also considered changing the dynamic of their arrangement, going public, as it were. That would surely show Molly how sorry he was. Though his reasons for keeping things out of the public eye were purely for her safety, he often wondered if she felt like his dirty secret. She wasn't, of course, he wasn't ashamed of loving her, only fearful for her wellbeing. He put a pin in that idea; he'd have to play it by ear.

At 10.17, Molly walked into the flat. Closing the door, she stood, staring at him, hands on her hips. She was clearly waiting for an explanation for his behaviour. He suddenly didn't have one.

Standing, he approached, stopping about four feet away. "I am sorry."

She nodded and angrily tossed her bag on the floor next to the settee, then removed her light jacket. He didn't like the look on her face. She was sad, her eyes red-rimmed; she'd been crying on the trip home. After toeing off her shoes, she turned to him and sighed. "I'm going to talk and you're going to listen, understand?"

Sherlock nodded.

"I love you," she said, taking two steps closer until she was in his personal space. Reaching up, she took two handfuls of hair, gripping tightly, she tugged. "But you won't _ever_ speak to me like that again, especially in front of my colleagues."

He tried to nod again, but was restricted by her hands.

"I would never betray you." Her voice was tight and rough as she spoke; she was fighting more tears and it caused his chest to ache. "I can't even imagine letting another man touch me, Sherlock. And if you think I'm capable of that, then…"

"I don't!"

"Shut up!" She pulled him closer, touching her forehead to his. "You obviously did, at least for a moment." Her hands relaxed and she soothed his scalp with her fingertips before releasing him and pacing away.

He instantly missed the contact.

With her back to him, she folded her arms under her breasts and said, "I don't complain, you know. Your work is important, not only to you but… it's so important to the people you help." Turning, she faced him. "You pretend it's all for selfish reasons but I know you, _really_ know you, Sherlock Holmes." She gave him a watery smile. "Part of you wants to help, wants to use your gifts for the greater good." Walking quickly towards him, she placed her hand over his heart. "You think because you place a higher value on logic and deduction that you don't feel, but that's bullshit. You care so much more because you… understand… so much." Her other hand snaked around his neck, gripping tightly. "It's why you reacted the way you did." An odd little laugh escaped. "Yes, you jumped to the wrong conclusion, but only because you love so completely. You can't do anything halfway; it's all or nothing with you. Try to understand that it can be overwhelming to be the focus of that admiration, but it is not unwanted."

It suddenly dawned on Sherlock _why_ they worked so well. Molly didn't _let_ him have his Work, she _needed_ him to have it. He had thought that he was so in control, telling her that their relationship wouldn't change how he lived his life, that cases would always come first, but that wasn't true. Molly came first. The woman he loved couldn't play second chair to a profession. The Work mattered to him, yes, but it did not matter _most_.

She had figured out something of great importance, however. His clever Molly knew instinctively that The Work - for the both of them, not just him - would keep them balanced. Of course Molly knew that. Not only did she know it, but she needed it too. She was no slouch; she was smart and dedicated and focused, hence her work with the beetles, even to the neglect of _him_. _Couldn't swallow a bit of your own medicine, could you?_ If he could have only been a little more patient...

Her hand moved a lower, now resting over his left lung. "You just need to stop and take a breath from time to time."

Without conscious thought, Sherlock exhaled loudly.

Molly smiled and kissed his cheek. "Now, another."

He did just as she requested, drawing in a deep breath then letting it go.

"Good. Again," she whispered in his ear.

Sherlock followed her directive, feeling more and more relaxed with each exhale. After a couple more, he reached out, taking hold of her hips and asking, "May I speak?"

She nuzzled his neck. "Yes."

"Am I forgiven? Because if not, you should know that I _am_ prepared to grovel."

Her soft giggle caused goosebumps to alight up his spine. "I don't need that, Sherlock, just try not to do it again." She kissed his neck at the end of her statement.

"I promise never to hurt..."

She cut him off with a possessive kiss, biting down just a little too hard on his bottom lip. As she pulled away she said, "Yes you will and I'll hurt you too. All we can do is try."

Nodding, he hugged her small frame tightly to his. "I want to make it up to you."

"This isn't something you can fix with that talented tongue of yours, love. But we'll get there; I have faith."

Sherlock hummed, pressing his nose into her sweet smelling hair and asked about her project.

"You don't really want to hear about my beetles, do you?"

"I most certainly do," he answered indignantly. "Come…" He moved away, tugging her towards the hallway. "... let's get in the bath and you can tell me all about your bug breeding."

 _ **~ Bathtime, storytime and other pleasurable things ~**_

Sherlock lay in the warm water with Molly nestled comfortably between his splayed legs. She'd been speaking about her project for quite some time now. He was listening, of course, just as he said he would but he was also lightly stroking her arms and shoulders, sometimes even collarbone and breasts. She had his full and undivided attention - it was a fascinating subject, he had quickly found out. His cock wasn't paying a bit of attention to her beetle story, however.

"... by deep ribosomal RNA amplicon sequencing…"

"Wait a minute, I thought you were breeding them?" Sherlock interrupted.

"Well, we are, but only for the purpose of the sequencing. We bred the _Shilpa romosa_ ourselves to ensure purity and to study them from the onset."

He nodded his understanding, even though he was behind her. "What species are you using for comparison?"

Molly turned in the tub until she was straddling his thighs, a knowing smile on her lips. "I love your brain," she said, kissing the end of his nose. " _Carabus aba_ , or ground beetle of the _carabus_ species."

Managing to refrain from rolling his eyes - he knew what _Carabus aga_ was - he asked, "Why did you choose them?"

"They're plentiful, easy to attain and cheap. Anyway, we're almost finished with the sequencing and then…"

"Then you'll have more answers as to the carrion beetle's effects on the decomposition of a corpse. Brilliant, Molly."

She blushed. Well, she blushed even more. Her cheeks were already pink from the heat of the room and perhaps (hopefully) from arousal. "It's been done before, Sherlock, this isn't groundbreaking territory," she said modestly, settling her hips closer to his. It took real effort not to hiss when her bum came into contact with his half hard cock. "The Americans have done multiple studies, for instance, but having our own data, with our own variety, will be extremely helpful."

Sherlock let his hands wander over the soft, wet globes of her bottom. "Of course it will." He leant in and captured her lips. He was shocked at how much he'd enjoyed listening to her explanation but it was time to move onto different topics. Bugs weren't sexy and he had missed her so very much. Rocking his hips against hers, he hoped he was getting his point across.

Molly moaned into his mouth, her hands moving to grip his shoulders and he felt confident that he had made his intentions clear. "Want you," she said, breaking the kiss and licking water droplets and sweat off his neck.

 _Yes!_ Now for the difficult part. Bathtub sex was tricky. The water would work against them, washing away Molly's natural lubrication, but he was up for the challenge. He just had to make sure she was really, _really_ wet. His mouth was out of the question, unfortunately. Then again, maybe not. He couldn't lick her to a frenzy, but perhaps he could talk her there. Not to mention he did have a few other secret weapons at his disposal.

" _I've missed you, Molly,"_ he whispered. "I always miss you whilst I'm on a case, but you've been so busy…"

"I know, but…"

"Hush, love. I'm making a point." He nipped at her shoulder. "My point is that I've had to rely on my own hand to relieve myself since you've been so wrapped up with your study." He was careful not to demean her work as he had been in his head for the last several weeks. _I've been such a bastard_ , he thought as he kissed his way across her clavicle.

"Mmmmm… tell me about that," she requested, her hands now fisted in his wet hair.

"You've been so tired, working your shifts then spending all your spare time at the university..."

"I couldn't take any more time off from Barts to work on the study. I'm saving my holiday for…"

"For what?" he asked, moving his mouth to her left breast.

" _God, yesss!_ Ah, I've been hoping that we could… um, ah... take a mini break, maybe. Sherlock! Don't stop!"

Releasing her nipple with a plop, he pulled her down for a kiss. "Sounds lovely." He rocked up, letting his cock brush he nether lips, which were spread wide due to their position. "Prague?"

"I was thinking somewhere warmer, perhaps," she said as reached down, wrapping her hand around his length and trying to guide him where she wanted him, but he easily maneuvered her back a couple of inches, just out of reach. " _Please!"_

"Not yet, love." He let her continue to stroke him; it felt marvelous. "Now, where are we going on this trip?" His hand traveled between them and he teased her with the light touch of his index finger. Molly bucked forward, her head falling back as he slid the digit further through her folds. She was soaked, so wet that the bath water couldn't keep up its job. Good, she'd missed him too. He could take her now but no, he was enjoying the anticipation. Besides, she would be so much tighter after an orgasm. He loved entering her swollen snatch just after she came. "Where shall I take you, my sweet, for our _warm_ holiday?"

Releasing his cock, seemingly too far gone to focus on his pleasure, she placed both hands in his hair. "I-I don't know! Sherlock, Please!" she implored once again, tugging on his hair for emphasis or possibly as a warning, he wasn't sure which. "Want your cock!"

He ignored her plea, slipping a finger of his left hand into her tight heat. "As I was saying, I've been left to my own devices and had to rely on memories to satisfy my needs." Pulling her close once again, he added another finger. Using the heel of his hand, he pressed hard against her clitoris and spread her buttocks apart with the right.

Molly let out a low moan and ground down. "Yes! Yes!" she hissed in his ear. "Wh-what'd you do?"

"I lay in our bed, naked, and thought of you, of your pussy." She moaned. "I remembered your taste, how tight and hot you are…" Her nails dug into his scalp. "I stroked myself while thinking about eating your cunt, of sucking on your luscious little tits, of bending you over and fucking you without mercy," he answered in the lowest voice he could manage.

She pulled back and frantically attached her lips to his, artlessly shoving her tongue into his waiting mouth as she rocked on his hand. Tearing her lips away, she asked, "Did you call my name when you came?"

"I did." He smirked. "Loud enough for you to hear me at the University of London."

Nails digging into his neck, her eyes boring into his, she growled, " _You need to fuck me right now!"_

 _Mission accomplished_. There was such a thing as too much foreplay when it came to Molly Hooper, he'd discovered that quite early on. Sherlock pressed his hand even harder against her clit as he teased her rosebud with a single finger and as per usual, the act set his lover off instantly. Her internal muscles tightened around his finger, cum coating his entire hand as she threw her head back and shouted her release into the room. He wasted no time. Quickly exchanging his fingers for his cock, he thrust up, filling her at once.

Molly, still in the throes of her orgasm, started chanting, " _Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"_ as she bounced up and down on his member. Water splashed out, but not much - the advantages of a deep tub! - as the couple fucked with little concern to their surroundings.

Her first climax seemed to lead seamlessly into the next with no break whatsoever. The pressure of her internal muscles was magnificent. They rippled, gripping his cock like a tight fist. That, coupled with their prolonged absence, caused Sherlock to lose control much sooner than he would have liked.

He growled her name into her shoulder, holding her tightly as he experienced one of the most intense orgasms of his life. He would have been ashamed of the short performance, but he could still feel Molly's sheath holding tightly onto his cock as the last of his issue shot into her womb. _Christ, she's still coming!_ A flicker of pride broke through the haze of orgasmic pleasure.

It took several minutes for either of them to find their way back to Earth. The cooling water helped; they'd been in there far too long. "We're going to catch a chill if we don't get out soon, love," he said, rubbing his hands up and down her back.

Panting, she said, "I know, but I'm not sure I have use of my legs just yet. I've never… that was…"

He chuckled as he kissed her forehead. "Then I'll have to carry you."

o0o0o

Ten minutes later they were snuggled in bed under several warm blankets, Molly's cheek resting comfortably on his chest as he played with her damp hair. "Molly?" he asked, unable to keep a small amount of fear out of his voice.

"Mmhmm?"

"I… I want to be exclusive."

Several minutes passed and he wondered if she would understand his meaning or if he'd just put his foot in it once again. Then, she leant up, moving even closer until she was almost lying on top of him.

"Okay." She bit her bottom lip. "No more Wife, then?"

After breathing an internal sigh of relief, he shook his head. "Actually, I… I'm planning on a divorce."

She wasn't smiling and he was somewhat worried about the cautious look in her eyes. "Sherlock, you need your work. You need…"

"I need _you_ , Molly," he interrupted, wrapping his arms around her. "Remember?"

She smiled then and if he wasn't wrong, the memory of the first time he'd made such a statement was currently playing in her mind.

"I enjoy my work and, yes, I will continue it, but you are no one's mistress, Molly Hooper. You will not come _second_ to anyone or anything."

"Meaning…?"

He drew a deep breath and brushed a few damp tendrils of hair out of her face. "Will you do me the honour of becoming my _Wife_?" he asked, putting as much emphasis on the word as he possibly could. This moment meant so much more to him than he could have ever imagined - _if_ he'd ever imagined it. Which he hadn't. The pang of regret that suddenly struck him was physical and lodged somewhere deep within his chest. How had he ever thought that he could go through life without her? Especially _after_ the realisation… how had he not recognised his folly? _I really am an idiot_.

Molly rose up, bracing her hands on either side of his head. "I am yours, Sherlock Holmes, now and forever. As your wife or your mistress." She laughed. "It doesn't matter what you call me." Her eyes were deep pools of the darkest brown and tearing up but her smile never faded. It did, however, become somehow slightly sinister when she spoke her next words, "The Work has nothin' on me. I was never threatened by that bitch." She kissed him quickly and deeply, then pulled away. "But I'd be happy to show her and the world to whom you belong."

* * *

 _Okay, I'm going to be super needy for a moment and **BEG** for reviews. I could really use the encouragement right now. Thanks so much for reading. ~Lil~_


End file.
